The Blacksmith and the Beast
by Serena-loves-Angst
Summary: Beauty and the Beast!AU. John Winchester finds himself a prisoner of a beast, and Dean trades himself for John. While John rallies the forces, Dean stays with the Beast, but soon comes to realize that there's more to him and his castle of live household objects than what meets the eye. What will happen Dean realizes that the clock is ticking, and he's not the one who needs saving?
1. Prologue

**The Blacksmith and the Beast**

**Prologue**

_Serena-loves-Angst and IBegToDreamAndDiffer_

Opulence. Elegance. Power. Absolute dominance.

These are the things that King Castiel James Novak II encompasses, and he makes sure everything he does and owns reflects it.

Currently, he's donning a navy tunic sewn from velvet, black leggings, a silver cape made of the finest silk, and a sapphire-studded crown sits nestled in his dark-brown locks. His steely blue eyes gleam in satisfaction as he stands at the top of the stairs, looking down into his ballroom. It's filled with people, many nobles and dignitaries, all chattering and enjoying themselves, but he can tell that they're all impatient.

Impatient for him.

The second he steps foot on the first stair he knows he has gotten everyone's attention; even the musicians have stopped playing. He slowly descends the stairs, hand trailing down the railing in a show of grace and ownership.

Outside, the lightning pounds against the windows, and the sound of it and the accompanying rolls of thunder can finally be heard.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Castiel doesn't pause on his descent, but a few of his guests begin to look confused.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

This time, Castiel looks down at one of his servants, glaring at them as if they're the cause of the thudding noise.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

"For the love of God, someone get the door!" Castiel hisses, hand tightening around the railing as he reaches the last steps.

One of the handmaidens quickly pardons her way to the door, opening it.

"Thank goodness, I've been looking for a place to stop for so long…" The voice can clearly be heard throughout the entire ballroom even though it couldn't have been uttered louder than a slow, soft rasp. The maid steps aside slowly, eyes unfocused, and a small, hooded man dressed in rags enters the ballroom.

It's as if everything shifts and there is only shades of gray around Castiel and the ragged traveler, and Castiel's eyes widen in shock. When he blinks, the colors are back and everything is normal. He shakes it off and strides through the path that the crowd hastily make for him, marching right up to the strange man and looking down at him.

"Who are you?" Castiel demands, and damn if his lip isn't already curling up.

The man's head raises a little, and Castiel can briefly see the wrinkles and lines of age underneath the shadows of the hood.

"I am only a traveler passing by. Please, the storm outside is so great and my old bones cannot take the battering sheets of nature. May I stay here just until the storm passes?" His voice is shaking with something Castiel dismisses as exhaustion and old age.

Castiel crosses his arms. "Tell me why I should let a filthy thing like you stay in my castle for a moment longer and maybe I will."

The man sucks in a quivering breath. "But, your highness, I have heard tales of your kindness and generosity regaled throughout the lands. Why would you turn such a weak man like I back into the storm where I could die cold, wet, and alone?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I meant," Castiel pauses to look the old man up and down in obvious disapproval, "what do you have to offer me?"

The old man reaches into his robe and takes out the most beautiful rose anyone in the ballroom has ever seen. It's as if it has the deepest, brightest blue of the sky rolled around the top of the healthy green stem, droplets of dew that can only be described as angel tears slipping off of it, and the pearly pink thorns look as sharp as needles.

Castiel is mildly impressed by the rose's beauty, but what good is a flower that will only die in a few days?

"Please, take it…" the old man holds it out to him.

Castiel takes it, pretending to look over it in interest. After a moment he looks down at the old man. "Sorry, not good enough," he says, throwing the rose back at him. As he does so one of the thorns cuts a gash in his palm and he hisses in pain. He glares over at one of the guards. "Get him out of here!" he orders.

The guard straightens and marches over to them, taking the old man's arm.

"I'm afraid you're not wanted here, beggar," the guard states before trying to pull the old man along, but he finds that he can't move him. It's as if he's pulling at a statue!

Castiel shifts on his other foot, clutching his bleeding hand in protectiveness, and he's looking at the guard impatiently.

The guard tries again, and he still can't move him. He uses his other hand and finds himself exhausted for some reason.

"I'm sorry, highness, I just can't move him…" the guard says before collapsing, making the duchess next to him shriek and jump out of the way.

Castiel's brow furrows. "What the…?"

The old man sighs, and as he straightens his hunched back he's suddenly standing over six feet tall. His rags have turned into a magnificent robe and he looks down at him in omniscience. The crowd suddenly turns gray-scale once again, and only Castiel and the man are in full-color.

"Who are you?" Castiel demands. He refuses to show any fear, even though it's pumping through his veins like ice.

"Do you know what I have come for, Castiel?" the man asks patiently.

"No, I don't. What do you want from me?" Castiel looks feral, but his animosity is only half his terror. Who is this man to walk into his castle and start to do…whatever the hell this is?!

"I came to assess you, Castiel. To see if you truly deserved all that you have," the man's face draws into disappointment and Castiel suddenly feels the need to make it up to him. "I was afraid of this, but I have to do what I must."

A scream tears its way out of Castiel's throat as he suddenly drops to his knees. The cut in his hand feels like it's on fire and he can hear the abnormally fast rush of his blood and the hard pounding of his heart against his ribcage. His skin begins to crawl and for some reason he can't stop hunching… Why do his clothes suddenly feel tighter?

"What…are you doing to me?" Castiel chokes out, gasping from the pain.

"I will give you a chance, Castiel. By your thirtieth birthday, you must find a person who loves you for who you are. You cannot tell them about what you used to be. It will be hard, but believe me when I say that fate works in strange ways… You have until the last petal of the rose falls, so make sure you take good care of it."

Castiel can barely hear him through the buzzing in his head, but he makes sure to memorize every word he says. He looks up and sees the rose lying a few feet away, and he crawls towards it. The pain is building with every second, and he barely notices as his guests slowly start to disappear.

Castiel groans lowly when another spike of pain hits him, this one leaving him dry-heaving on the floor for a minute, shaking and sweating. However, once it's over he finds that the pain is gone, but he feels different… He reaches for the rose and sees a hideous paw grasping the rose… He quickly retracts his hand back, and tries not to vomit when he notices that the paw did too.

There can only be one explanation.

Castiel staggers onto his feet, and he feels very tall for some reason. He walks over to one of the polished shields hanging on the wall. Once he catches a glimpse of himself he freezes.

In the thick of the storm, through the booming calls of the thunder and hard-hitting droplets of rain, a single roar tears through the entire forest and the towns beyond.

For lo and behold, King Castiel James Novak II has now become a giant, horrid beast.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_IBegtoDreamandDiffer and Serena-loves-Angst_

Dean is hammering away at a piece of metal when his father's business partner, Bobby Singer, shouts for him.

Dean groans and puts his mallet down as he calls, "What is it?"

"Your father's about to leave!" Bobby's voice comes through the open doorway.

Dean sighs again as he puts his things aside and steps away from the anvil. Sweat is already glistening over his face and he feels it dripping beneath his shirt, but he's long become accustomed to the feeling. He just wipes his hands on his dirty apron and wanders through the forge and outside, where the air is pleasantly cool on his face.

John Winchester is standing beside a pile of equipment and weapons. He's what Bobby likes to call a "travelling blacksmith". He wanders all over the countryside selling the weapons that he, Bobby, and Dean make. John prefers to go on foot, trusting himself to get from one town to the next.

Dean smiles when his dad looks at him, and John returns the gesture. "Are you sure you'll be okay without me?" John asks like usual.

Dean rolls his eyes, and Bobby, standing to Dean's right, says, "We'll be fine. Just get going."

John chuckles and claps Bobby on the shoulder before pulling Dean in for a hug. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Be careful," Dean replies, referring to the thieves and wild animals that always travel the well-used roads. John just nods. "Are you going to see Sam?" is Dean's next question.

John sighs, and Dean feels his heart plummet. Sam Winchester, Dean's younger brother, had a left a while ago and was currently doing squire studies in a town a few days' away. John had wanted Sam to be a blacksmith like himself and Dean, but Sam had always been adamant on choosing his own path. Dean didn't care as long as Sammy was happy. But he and John still disagreed on what the younger Winchester was doing with his life.

"I'll think about it," John speaks, bringing Dean out of his thoughts. He finds that he can only nod; that's all he can ask for, he supposes.

In a few minutes Bobby and Dean are watching John disappear down the street, calling out hellos to what seems like half the town. Bobby bumps Dean's shoulder with his own to draw the younger man's attention. "Come on, back to work," he orders, and Dean complies. He turns to watch his father one last time before going inside.

* * *

"Dean!"

For the second time that morning, Dean's work is interrupted. Only this time it's by Mr Crowley, who swans into the forge with a bright smile on his clean face.

"How can I help you?" Dean asks through gritted teeth, even though he wants to throw Crowley out on his ass. The man makes Dean's skin crawl.

"Now, now, don't be like that," Crowley chuckles with a smarmy grin. "I come for business." Dean just raises his eyebrows, waiting, and wondering where Bobby is; he should be the one handling all business transactions.

"I'm having a party in a few months, and I need a new piece for my ballroom," Crowley tells him, wrinkling his nose at all the dirt and dust covering every piece of furniture in the forge.

"And you want Mr Singer to make it for you?" Dean says, knowing where this is going.

"Well, it's a rather big piece I'm after, so it'll need yours, your father's, and Mr Singer's hard work," Crowley nods.

"What is it exactly that you want?" Dean questions.

"A suit of armor," Crowley tells him. "A complete piece in whatever style you fancy. As long as it's magnificent to look at, I don't really care."

"Okay," Dean says. He's pretty sure that he can make that with Bobby and John's help. At least, he hopes he can. Crowley might be a bastard, but he pays well.

"Where is your boss, anyhow?" Crowley questions, glancing around the room. "I want to get this over with. This place does terrible things to my hair and clothing."

Dean just rolls his eyes―careful not to let Crowley see―and goes looking for Bobby. Eventually Bobby and Crowley work out the payment and Bobby comes back into the forge grumbling under his breath.

"I hate that man!" Bobby proclaims, scratching at his beard.

Dean chuckles. "He's a dick, of course you hate him."

"Now we have to build a suit of armor!" Bobby continues to complain. "Honestly, a suit of _armor_."

"It's Crowley; what do you expect?" Dean scoffs.

Bobby sighs and sits heavily on one of the spare stools, watching as Dean stokes the fire. "I hope your daddy gets back soon," he says. "We can't get this done on our own, especially in the time limit Crowley's set."

"Dad will be fine," Dean shrugs. "He's only visiting two or three towns. He should be back by the end of the week."

"Mm," Bobby hums, and Dean chuckles.

"Wanna take a break and go get a drink?" he suggests. Bobby's eyes light up, and Dean grins.

"Knew I kept you around for a reason, boy," he says, standing and beckoning for Dean to follow. Dean just laughs.

* * *

It's already growing dark, and the trees hang thick and dark overhead, blocking out the setting sun. John just grits his teeth and continues on. He's traveled through worse places than a seemingly endless forest. That doesn't change the fact that his arms feel strained beneath the load of weapons he's carrying, and his feet are beginning to ache. John really wants to get out of this forest before making camp. He's always trusted his gut, and right now it's telling him to keep moving.

A howl pierces the early night and John pauses, fingers tightening over the straps of one of his bags. The first howl is followed by another, and then another, but John starts walking again after a few seconds.

_I don't remember there being wolves in this forest_, John thinks as he walks, but then shakes his head. He can deal with wolves; he has weapons. They didn't sound too close, so he should be fine.

The next howl sounds from John's right, and the blacksmith freezes, heart thudding against his ribcage. The animal's cry is followed by another to John's left, and John tenses as the bushes before him rustle.

A low, deep growl reaches John's ears, and it's much, much closer this time. He turns slowly. There, right behind him on the overgrown path, is the biggest wolf that John has ever laid eyes on. It has a large body covered in grey and white fur, head lowered as it glares at John with deep yellow eyes. Its lips pull back and it growls again, showing sharp white teeth.

There's another growl, and another. John doesn't wait around to hear a third before breaking into a run. He hears a howl go up, a call to hunt, and stumbles as he tries to pull a sword free from his many bundles. John Winchester won't go down without a fight.

_Only if I can pull a damn sword out in time!_ John curses internally as his clammy hands keep slipping off the hilt before he can manage to finally grasp it.

John suddenly finds himself bursting through the last vestiges of the forest and rushing toward a tall fence, the metal twisted and rusted from years of weather. John pays no attention to the large mansion sitting behind the fence; all he cares about is getting inside with his life, and preferably fully intact.

The wolves are behind him, snapping and howling, but John keeps his mind focused as he slams into the fence, sword clanging terribly against the corroded metal, and turns, looking for the gate.

Luck seems to be on his side, because the gate gives way when John finds the latch. He falls through, barely managing to kick the gate shut with his boots.

The wolves slam against the iron, snarling and snapping, drool swinging from their wide jaws as they bark and growl at him. John breathes heavily as he watches the wolves fall back. They start sniffing at the gate, looking for a way in, and John quickly picks himself up. The fence is clearly old and there could be holes anywhere. He turns to look up at the mansion, eyes widening ever so slightly at the dilapidated look of the once grand building.

Well, at least inside he will be safe from the wolves.

John quickly gathers his things and makes his way across the grass and overgrown path, eyes searching the building before him. There's no signs of life; there isn't any smoke erupting from the chimneys, and not even a curtain movies. John finally reaches the large front doors and manages to make his way inside, the door creaking beneath his weight. He doesn't see a shadow pass one of the upper floors, the curtain twitching ever so slightly as someone brushes against it.

"Hello?" John calls into the eerie darkness. Everything is blanketed in a fine layer of dust, and the only light is coming from the fading sun that can barely be seen through the covered windows. John places his weapons and other luggage on the floor by the door. "Hello?" he calls again, but there's still no answer.

He slowly makes his way deeper into the house. The front room is rather large, but soon enough John steps through another doorway into what appears to be a sitting room.

_THUD!_

John jumps and spins on the spot, racing back to the entrance hallway. He sees that the door is now closed, and a rush of panic slithers through him as he stretches his hand out to grab the handle

He pulls, but the door won't budge, as though it has been nailed shut. John tugs again and again but to no avail.

A rustling makes him turn. John's eyes narrow as he tries to see through the gloom, but he can't see any movements.

"Hello?" John calls for a third time. "I'm really sorry to have intruded like this. I was running from a pack of wolves."

There's another rustle, like cloth sliding over paper, and John turns in that direction.

"Please excuse my intrusion," he tries again. "I can be on my way as soon as possible."

"No..."

The voice is deep, gravelly, as though it hasn't been used in years. John jumps slightly at the sound of it and turns every which way, trying to find the owner. "Please, just show yourself," he says, voice lowering as he tries to make it sound like an order.

"You stumble upon my grounds..." the voice growls, now coming from another direction.

"I already apologized for that," John replies.

"You will stay...forever."

The growl comes from behind John, and the blacksmith turns. But all he manages to see is a large, hooded figure before everything goes dark.


End file.
